A Hollow Shell
by Lady Elena Dawson
Summary: They were the idealistic couple of 1955 suburban Connecticut. But under all their flawless achievements, they had their imperfections. In a moment of realization, April decides not to go through with her mindless mistake. Will they forgive and learn to love again? Or will their lives forever be a series of fights and frustrations?
1. A Mindless Decision

**_Author's Note:_ So, I'm back with a new story! I usually write _Titanic _fan fics, but just this weekend I watched _Revolutionary Road_ (with the amazing Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio), and I decided to write a story about it. Seeing that there are only three other stories in this fandom, I looked through them and especially loved Penguinsxxx's idea of April not going through with the abortion. After asking her very nicely, I've adopted her one-shot and will now continue by turning it into a full-blown story.**

**Read Penguinsxxx's original story here: s/8161142/1/Cry**

**And most of all, enjoy and review! I'd love to know what you guys think!**

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**Disclaimer: I do not own _Revolutionary Road _(2008)**

_**A Hollow Shell**_

_**By Lady Elena Dawson**_

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**Chapter One: A Mindless Decision**

Watching the posh car zoom away, April stood on the porch for a couple more minutes than necessary, standing in the same spot even after it had been far out of her sight. That morning she had woken up and made a decision, a choice that might put an end to what she had been feeling for the past ten years. Maybe she was just a hollow shell of a woman; maybe she was just as guilty to blame. Maybe John Givings was right: Every decent person should be glad that they weren't the baby that would be growing up on Revolutionary Road.

Turning around, her hand floated near her flat stomach. That one footstep back into the house was the hardest thing she'd ever done. The door frame acted as a barrier for what could have been and what will happen—taking that step, one foot in front of the other, had silently agreed to her choice that she was ready to lighten the heaviness on her shoulders.

Surprisingly she found it easy to make her way into the kitchen and start rubbing the dishes clean. But even with the unanticipated ease, she still shook in her shoes, her ankles giving way that she almost collapsed weakly on the floor; she could feel the vomit rising in her throat, of the living creature begging her to stop crying, but once she started, she couldn't stop.

Each tear that fell onto her cheek brought along with it the memories of her and Frank's wedding day, the first time they met and he made her laugh, the amazing stories he would tell of the war. Replaced in her head were the deadly reminisces of what their cobbled-up, oh-so-perfect relationship had brought: The fighting, the tears, the anger and fear. She had told him she hated him; that he was a silly excuse for a man; that she loathed even the sight of him.

The thoughts revolted her, but she found it easy to let go of those bittersweet memories of the times they had shared living like a young, passionately in love couple. She forced herself to shove the brawls down her throat, until the vomit was becoming unbearable to hold in, yet the bile was still swallowed. She wanted the tears to wipe away her memory, but the voice in the back of her head kept beckoning her to remember Frank's loveless arguments that had put their marriage on the line for far too long.

They had tried to escape from the stereotypical suburban town, yet the people had just pulled Frank right back in. She had bought the tickets, made the plans; and the company had twisted their unrealistic dreams back into reality.

Or was this even reality at all?

Drying the last dish with a tremulous hand, she swallowed the dry lump in her throat and filled a pot with steaming water. At that moment she had no idea what she was doing, but whatever it was, she was too mesmerized about the idea of an impeccable family that wouldn't exist with another child in the picture—already her mind was captivated to the point that she could not snap out of it.

Upstairs she placed the hot water bowl in the bathtub, watching the steam run up the sides and leave cooled droplets on the spotless porcelain. Many days she had worked hard on the bathroom, scrubbing the sinks clean and the toilet bowls fresh. But she had had enough, and though it was over twelve weeks, she was going to take the chance.

Her consistent shivering had ceased and now she was stiff as a stone; one could compare it to a hollow bowl filled to the brim with water. She felt heavy and alone, her memory erased of the peaceful morning she had spent with Frank, now understanding why she had wanted so badly for the kids to stay over a friend's house for the night. The only memory consuming her mind was that of their fight last night, where he had admitted to his affair and what she had said made him snap. She remembered running out of the dining room like a wounded animal, but he still caught hold of her, broke the kitchen chair, before she was finally able to pull away and run into the woods. She spent a lot of time thinking out there, unaware of Frank's own regretful, remorseful tears.

Unconsciously she pulled out a crisp sheet of paper and scribbled a note on the inside flap before folding it and placing it on the dust-free tabletop. Wiping her sweaty palms on her smooth dress, she continued with her monotonous process, proceeding by sitting on the bed, her back as straight as an iron rod.

Fiddling with the phone cord, she typed in the number with her manicured fingernails. Many thoughts were coming into her head at once, most of them being her own selfish, harsh words.

_Just because you've got me safe in this little trap, you think you can bully me into feeling whatever you want me to feel!_

As the phone let out its first ring, the reason why she wanted to get out of this ploy came with it.

_Look at us. We're just like everyone else. We've bought into the same, ridiculous delusion._

Then something else entirely, something she just couldn't explain, for at that moment it felt like the right thing to say.

_And you know what's so good about the truth? Everyone knows what it is however long they've lived without it. No one forgets the truth, Frank, they just get better at lying._

They kept coming and coming, spiraling out of control.

_You're just some guy who made me laugh at a party once!_

_What are you going to do now? Are you going to hit me? To show me how much you love me?_

Until one made her stop.

_Frank Wheeler, I think you're the most interesting person I've ever met._

She couldn't feel the teardrops staining her cheeks. She just put the receiver to her mouth and continued to wait for Milly's voice on the other end, something to shake her out of her bloodless, coldhearted decision. And she thought of the farewell note she had left on the table downstairs.

Frank would see it when he got home.

…

The conversation she had with her neighbor was a blur. She remembered the strain in her voice as she told Milly—or, more accurately, attempted—to tell her children that she loved them, to not call them back home if they were still playing. After she hung up the receiver, the only thing left to do was what she had cobbled up that oddly peaceful morning.

The water was still boiling hot, despite April feeling like it had been hours since she had set it down in the bathroom. Her heart was pounding dreadfully as she removed the rubber tubing from the plastic covering, and the sight of it made her stomach hurl; she was absolutely revolted by it. But sometimes ending a life before it had lived was better than seeing it grow up in the home of a couple falling apart.

Or so April told herself so the notion could be easier.

The syringe. The hot water. The rubber tube. It was all so disgusting, yet so clever. Someone more desperate than her had cobbled up such a horrific invention just so they could live another day of freedom, and not be burdened by the raising of a child.

_You make it seem like having kids is a goddamn punishment!_

Her breathing was coming out in uncontrollable gasps, a small sweat appearing on her forehead. The revolting needle was so close to her skin, ready to penetrate it and take away something that had never lived to see the world. In a way, April was certain that it didn't want to open its eyes and turn its head to the sunlight, not with her and Frank as its parents; yet, something tugged at her, something that she had overlooked while scrubbing away her problems on the dishes.

Suddenly, the whole idea of abortion was unrealistic. For that hour of reality, it had all turned around and become a nightmarish dream. She loved her children, didn't she? Jennifer and Michael were good kids, polite and smart. Not that she didn't have her share of disagreements with them, including the day she found out she was pregnant and the whole grand scheme of moving to Paris had come crashing down. She had cried as though it _was_ a goddamn punishment, her mind so focused on her and what the baby had done to her plans that she was practically turned mad.

But she realized that now, with the syringe only a couple of inches away from her pasty skin. It dropped to the ground with a sickening thud, April dropping to the ground and gathering the towels she had so precisely laid moments ago. Her nose was sloppy and runny, and her eyes were wet and red; all of a sudden, she couldn't stop sobbing, the realization that she loved this new baby just as much as she did her entire family causing her to feel weak and, overall, a failure as a human being.

Whatever she had thought that morning had vanished into thin air. She screamed and sloshed the water around the tiles, running out of the bathroom as though something flesh-eating had popped out of the sink. The kit had fallen off the counter, the tube rolling around in a circular motion on the floor, making her feel sick to her stomach.

Collapsing on to the bed, she couldn't stop sobbing. She could have shed thousands of tears, but that would still be the equivalent of ten—it didn't matter how large the number, but just how sinful she felt.

The nausea multiplied as her lungs stopped hyperventilating. The terrible fate that she could have met replayed in her head, the thought that she had been okay with it killing her from the inside out.

_Her clammy, bare feet walked down the stairs, achingly slow for the young woman she was._

_At first all she felt was the pain, but once she reached the large window, there was the blood._

_One dropped stained the white floor. Two, then three. The bleeding wouldn't stop._

_All she could think about was how Frank was going to come home to the blemish on the carpet and the mess in the bathroom. Not once did she think about the horrible mistake she had made._

_Strolling stiffly out of the room, she shakily picked up the phone before dialing the hospital. _

_The words that would manage to escape her mouth: "I think I need help."_

_In a few minutes, Milly would look out her window and see the ambulance in front of the Wheelers', the idealistic couple who lived next door. _

_And in a few hours, Frank would be waiting for the dreadful news._

_And in a few seconds, he would learn that April was dead._

She couldn't stop herself from recounting exactly how her death would have played out if she had gotten away with aborting her baby, innocent to the point that it couldn't even defend itself if she had done what she had planned to do.

Curling up on the bed, she whimpered and shook, gently clutching her flat belly, too afraid that maybe it was all a dream—and she would wake up downstairs in front of the window, the blood between her feet.


	2. Mistakes

**A/N: Thank you all for reviewing! Keep it up! (I see you, Mefiercia!) Also, I hope this chapter is satisfying to all my readers; I packed in a lot of different emotions in this chappy. Enjoy, I hope!**

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**Chapter Two: Mistakes**

Nothing much had changed since that morning. Frank noted the time on the clock and anxiously tapped his pencil on the desk, a smoking cigarette in his other hand. The whole day he had been waiting to go home, to see April; since he had entered work early, he had the uneasy feeling that the phone would ring, the dread that weighed him down would plummet, and leave a numb sensation in his stomach.

He didn't know how his mind got on the topic of abortion. Maybe it was because breakfast had been so unusual, though it shouldn't have been, for it was how marriages should be. April had picked up her glass of orange juice with a tremulous hand, and he could see her swallow the unshed tears from the night before when she had ran out of the house and into the woods.

Chasing after her was a fight-or-flight decision, almost an instinct. He was so used to running after her, pulling her away from the life they both wanted to live, but which he barred away from their reality. He always asked her what she wanted, but he never gave it to her without disappointment. The guilt built up, and once he had caught up to her in the mass of trees and she begged him to stop, he took a step back. Then another, and another, until he finally turned his feet mechanically and walked away from his brooding wife, who eventually appeared again out in the back yard, smoking against a tree.

The image of her through the window sent Frank in an unmanly flurry of tears. Did she not know how much he tried? Would she ever find a way past his flaws? Maybe their marriage was a mistake; maybe they weren't meant to be.

"Frank?"

Frank jerked his head up to see one of his colleagues staring curiously at him, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand.

"This is the third time I've told you to contact the company."

He apologized and nodded his head, picking up the receiver, ready to do his job. As the man walked away, he slammed it down on the desk. He didn't realize he was shaking.

He should have thrown away the disgusting thing away when he had the chance.

…

Later that day, Frank got out of work early, complaining that his wife wasn't feeling well. He had even feigned the conversation on the phone, mentally congratulating himself when his colleagues and partners sent him sympathetic words and glances. Maureen—the, uh, secretary— smiled as though she was hurt, but Frank pretended not to notice.

As he pulled into the driveway, he noted that the only light on in the house was in the bedroom. Everything was oddly quiet, and at first that dread came boiling back up, but he pushed the bile back down his throat. Slamming the car door shut, he shifted the suitcase uncomfortably in his hands as he tried to keep a calm, nonchalant posture entering the practically barren house.

When the front door slammed behind him, it echoed throughout the idealistic home. Frank felt cold and strangely lost, like he had entered a stranger's place. Putting one foot in front of the other, his leather shoes made their usual stepping sound. The kitchen was clean, the living room was tidied up; but where was April?

His eyes roamed the room and fell upon the letter. Opening it up with nerve-tingling hands, the first thing he noticed was the shaky handwriting—his name signed at the top, with April's words flowing onto the paper.

"Do not blame yourself."

He remembered the bedroom light upstairs, and instantly his stomach knotted up. He wanted to vomit all over the clean floors April worked so diligently scrubbing every day. As quick as a whip he ran up the stairs, thanking God that his children had not been home to see the terrible choice their mother had made, and pushed open the bedroom door without a second thought.

April. Curled up on the bed in a fetal position, her eyes red and puffy from hours of lone silence except for her sobs; they caught his, her guilty blue irises poring into him. So badly he wanted to collapse to the ground and cry in relief, for she was alive but badly scarred by what her own mind had been thinking hours ago.

"Frank," she whimpered, her voice weak yet angelic. He'd forgotten how lovely she sounded when she spoke; he only remembered her screams. In a nervous habit, she looked away from his eyes and began biting her nails. He'd forgotten how she'd do that; he only remembered how her face deteriorated when she cried.

His gaze darted from his broken wife to the wide-open bathroom door, the kit dropped on the floor in a puddle of water. Horrified, he didn't move, nor did he speak.

April noticed what he was looking at and jumped out of the bed, rushing into his arms. "I'm sorry, Frank," she cried, her nails digging deeper into his ironed shirt. "I'm so sorry!"

He just held her there, unresponsive. His dumbfounded motives encouraged her to continue. "I swear I didn't do anything! I stopped myself before I could…" Sniffling, she shut her mouth and refused to say any more than she already had. However, she allowed herself to be warmed by his stiff embrace.

The next words that came out of his wife's frowning mouth made Frank snap back into reality: "I'm sorry."

Was she sorry? He couldn't be sure. He clearly remembered the ugly argument they had where he had accused her of almost "flushing their whole family down the toilet," as he had angrily put it; he had studied her reaction to his response as her mouth faltered and she struggled with her words.

"_But…I love my children."_

Yet, she had called their firstborn a mistake, the reason why they got married. They then, in lack of a better way to put it, planned the next one just so it couldn't be a blunder in their relationship twice in a row. After all, what would the infallible street of Revolutionary Road think of the Wheelers if they knew of their "slip-ups"?

The negative impressions of Jennifer and Michael in April's foolish mind made Frank want to shake her shoulders in another rage, but the fire that had been burning inside him for weeks burned out. Immediately he was calm, holding her in his arms and kissing the top of her head to soothe her as he hoped she had cried for the last time that day.

"It's all right," he replied calmly, tenderly pushing her away just so he could _see _the apologetic glint in her eyes.

For a few seconds they did nothing but stare as though they had never seen each other before. April studied his eyes, the bluest color she'd ever seen in her entire life, and his babyish facial features; Frank noticed her bow-shaped lips and the slight bump on her swelling stomach, carrying a child—_his_ child.

Why hadn't he made the connection before?

He scoffed, the corner of his mouth turning up at the thought. Life shouldn't be a game, he realized, talking about their children like they weren't human beings with souls, or having affairs galore just to hurt the other or escape an awaiting brawl at home. Their world was completely fake, and he was the one who stopped them from escaping—for a job he, in fact, _loathed_.

April raised an eyebrow at his eccentric response, licking her dry lips. "Wha—" she began, but was immediately interrupted by her husband, who took her face in his hands and put a smooth thumb over her lips.

"Shh," he whispered, moving his hands over her eyes. "Let me think."

And then there it was, making his heart soar. To his delight, she laughed, a pure, genuine giggle. Maybe it was because how silly he was being or how unlikely it was of him to play around with her like that, but whatever the case, she let him contemplate.

When he finally removed his blocking hands from her face, he was met with a mocking, intimidating gaze, her arms crossed at her chest and forehead wrinkled up. It was as though the horrible moment before had dissipated. "What were you think about?" she asked him, courageously undoing his tie and wrapping it in her hand, setting it aside, her eyes avoiding the lighted bathroom.

The words came out of his mouth before he could fully think them over. "We're moving to Paris!" he exclaimed, the widest smile appearing on his features in the past eight weeks.

April's giddy face dropped. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out but a stutter; was he being serious? All of a sudden, she was furious at him. "I-is this some kind of a joke?" she scoffed, taking a couple steps back. "Are you really going to bring that up again?"

Heart plummeting, Frank knew what was coming before it even happened: another fight. They always started off in some offensive way, a situation he unfortunately knew too well. Stepping closer to her, he said, "Let me explain," but she madly moved back some more.

"No, no!" she yelled when he attempted to hold her clammy palm, but she put her hands up in innocence. "Don't touch me!" She sighed, disliking the words that spilled out of her mouth; she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "Just let me think this time," she muttered more calmly.

But what rolled off her tongue after a moment of utter silence was not what Frank expected. "How about," April suggested thoughtfully, "we be honest with each other before we make any more commitments?"

Frank gulped, hard. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she sighed, suddenly seeming uncomfortable, "whatever you've kept out of our relationship, you spill it now."

When he didn't respond, she spoke up. "Here, I'll go first." The corner of his lips twitched as April rolled up her sleeves and glanced out the window. "Since you were so honest with me about your affair in the city, I'll have to be honest with you."

She explained how she had unconsciously let Shep, their married neighbor, seduce her. "I was angry and upset," she had spoken rapidly, tears pouring out of her eyes. "It was just me and him at that bar after you and Milly left, and before I knew it I invited him to dance and I couldn't stop thinking about Paris and the baby and—and…" She shrugged helplessly, her face distorted from sobbing. "We were in the car ready to drive home, when I—I let him. H-he said he'd been in love with me for such a long time…" She swallowed the disgusting bile rising in her throat, sickened by what she had done. "Looking back on it now," she laughed boldly, "he's always been quite revolting."

Her heart pounding, she finally dared herself to look up in her husband's eyes. _This is it_, she thought, her palms sweating. _Oh God, he's probably thinking of my reaction when he told me about his secretary. _

Frank held a blank expression on his face. Millions of thoughts were roiling through his mind like a storm at sea, the waves splashing and swirling. The story he had just been told didn't process well in his mind, but for him, there was only one thing he could really be true with himself about: She had been honest. And that was all that should matter to him.

His response shocked April. "Quite," he managed to make out, his numb lips forming a boyish grin as his wife's torn face pulled itself back together again—and they started laughing, something they hadn't done together in what seemed like years, maybe all the way back to medieval times.

Pulling her into a well-needed hug, he kissed her tenderly on the lips—surprising themselves once again for their boldness that night—and wrapped his arms around her waist while closing his eyes, burrowing his face into her short blonde hair and caressing her ear.

They stayed like that, the inseparable couple they had always been but never acknowledged, until Frank reluctantly pulled away and pushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Get some rest," he said. "It's been a long day." Meanwhile, he made the short journey to the bathroom, ready to mop up the horrible confessions that had been revealed that day—namely April's attempt at abortion and affair with the neighbor, which he still couldn't and didn't want to picture.

As April got into her nightgown and shimmied into bed, she relaxed her head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, her arms instinctively wrapping around her slight bump of a belly. Lost in thought, she could barely make out Frank calling Milly to watch their kids for another night; when questioned about April's strange behavior earlier that day, Frank said that that was the reason why he wanted Jennifer and Michael to stay at her home—as much as he hated Shep at that moment.

A few moments later he crawled into bed next to April, flicking off the lamp and sinking under the covers.

April's head was pounding. As moments passed, so did her thoughts—and one couldn't leave into sleep just yet.

"Frank?" she whispered in the dark, but it didn't feel like her lips had moved.

"Hm?"

"Were you being serious when you said we're moving to Paris?"

Frank sighed deeply before replying. "We'll talk about it this time," he said. "Really, _truly _talk about it."

Her hand moved from her belly and wound its way to Frank's, her fingers entwining in his. "And Frank?"

He could feel his heart beating under his chest. "Yeah?"

"I love you so much."

Many thoughts whipped through Frank's head at that moment. One was this: So they had problems. But he was willing to let the past go and think only of their present: their home, their family, and their future. _Have the baby in Paris? _he told himself. _Seems like a good idea to me. _

It wasn't until then that Frank realized that their marriage had been crumbling apart for the past ten years. From that day forward, he vowed to never let it fall apart again.

Impulsively, his hand closed over hers. "I love you too."


	3. Remembering

**A/N: This will be the only update for the next couple of weeks. If I do possibly have time, I'll most likely be updating one of my _Titanic _stories or my new _Mummy _fic. Enjoy this until then!**

**Chapter Three: Remembering**

The night passed into morning without a single bitter recrimination, but April couldn't hold that against her husband because he had been sleeping on the couch for the past couple weeks. Overall, she hated that her children asked why he was lounging in the living room, but now that that phase was hopefully over, she was ready for a fresh new start.

The past few minutes she had done nothing but stare at the austere white ceiling, her mind focusing primarily on her stupidity the day before, until she finally coaxed herself to sit up. In her hand was Frank's, the warmth being standardize and spread out among her relaxed fingers, which had been clenched and digging into her palms yesterday. As much as she didn't want to let go, she pulled away and slowly opened her hand, the nail marks having been left in her smooth skin.

Dragging her legs off the side of the bed, she exhaled the breath she had been holding in unknowingly. The past few months had seemed unbelievably surreal, starting from the failed play to the impractical goal of moving to Paris. What had they been thinking?

April stood up on her stiff legs and stretched her arms, peeking down at the tiny swell of her stomach. Everything had gone so wrong the day she learned she was pregnant again, but she was determined to push those vicious thoughts aside and embrace the new family member.

After all, didn't she love him or her as much as she did her two children and Frank?

Frank. She sighed and glanced down at his sleeping figure. They'd been so on and off for weeks, profanity flying after sweet murmurs of "I love you." And the children: They were coming home soon.

Preparing breakfast was a housewife's job, so that's what April did. She followed the procedure that she had done every morning for the past decade: set the skillet on the stove, get the eggs out of the fridge, beat them in a bowl, and fry them with butter. Whatever else was in the house that day she added to the measly meal—fruits, oatmeal, bacon. Whatever it took to feed the family she'd cared for without a single complaint. To her, whining was a silly woman's work. Frank gave her everything he could, so she made to it to pay him back with every ounce of chores she could manage in ten hours.

As soon as she was peeling the eggs off the skillet and onto a plate, there were the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. She tensed, her mind and body still used to the meaningless bickering that had pursued morning after morning before Frank headed off to work. Excluding yesterday, where she had somehow magically managed to paste a smile on her face—no matter how tremulous her hands were—her life had been falling down the cliffs of a broken marriage since then.

No greetings for a blessed morning were said; none were, necessarily, needed. April watched from the corner of her eye as Frank plopped down on the nearest kitchen chair with a dragged out sigh, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Sometimes he reminded her so much of a child, she could almost remember the days when they had been dating, before they were forced to settle down.

"_Frank, no!" April cried as he coaxed her into sitting on the front railings of his bike. They were parked at the top of a steep hill; riding down it would give the fastest ride April will ever be victimized by on a bicycle. _

"_Come on, April, it's only a short distance down," he said, giving her the advantages. _

"_No!" she laughed. "What if we fall?"_

"_Then I'll be there to catch you." April giggled to hide her creeping blush. She sighed in defeat._

"_All right," she said, starting to get a proper footing on the bike. "I'll do it."_

_Frank put his hands on her waist and aided her in sitting on the handles. "Oh, God," she murmured as she peeked down at her knees, which hid the wheels of the bike from her sight. Her sweaty palms gripped the handles as far as she could, stabbing Frank in the side with her elbows._

_His fingers firmly curled around her death grip on the handles. "You could loosen up a bit," he said, entwining them in hers. Immediately April felt secure._

_After a few more seconds of shuffling and getting comfortable, it was the moment of truth. "You ready?" he asked, glancing at the side of her face, which was pasted with a smile full of nerves and excitement._

_She gulped. "I think so," she admitted, not wanting to chicken out now._

_Exhaling a puff of air, Frank lifted his feet off the ground. At first they just crept along, sending a squeal out of April's throat which made Frank bark out a laugh. "It's going to be okay," he soothed her, but then the bike starting moving faster and faster._

_It was a mostly smooth path with a few rocks and broken pieces of gravel dotting the way. After noticing these, April became a little distraught, but she let the euphoria and adrenaline fence in her nervous thoughts. With the pounding of her heart came a giddiness she hadn't felt in years (in short, she had a strict childhood). If her father saw her now, he'd keel over in his grave!_

_April let out a giddy shriek as they neared the end of the hill, immensely enjoying the feel of the wind through her hair. It was the best feeling she'd had in her short lifetime. Frank laughed along with her._

_However, their moment was short-lived. As soon as the bike came slowing to a stop, it also happened to hit a rock in the path—sending the bike out of control and into the trees on the outside of the path. The couple only had time to scream, short and crisp, before they were back first in a pit of leaves, shrubs, and twigs. April sat in the pile stunned while Frank rubbed his knocked head and groaned._

"_Frank?" she gasped out, putting a hand to her racing, trembling heart; her fingers were shaking. They shared a moment where their eyes interlocked, and suddenly April was erupting into wet, teary laughs. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, wiping away a stray tear on her jawline. "That was the most fun I'd had in years!"_

_Back cracking, Frank carefully stood up and dusted the dirt and leaves off his pants and shirt. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, even though there was much pain in his scraped leg. He gave April his hand, and was immediately alarmed by the blood covering her knees and the stain that appeared on his hand. "God, April," he whispered, guilty, "you're bleeding everywhere."_

_But April still mustered a large grin, her eyes twinkling when Frank removed one hand off her shoulder to remove the twig stuck in her hair. "I've broken places far worse," she said, trying to comfort him with stories of her boring yet adventurous childhood. "I'm all right."_

_After cleaning themselves up as best as they could without water, antiseptic, or bandages, they hobbled back to the downed bike while supporting each other by gripping the other's opposite shoulder. Frank kept apologizing and April kept excusing them, saying she was fine a few more times until he finally believed that she was—for the most part._

_Instead of hopping on the bike, however, April took one handle in one hand while Frank did the same for the other side. Starting a conversation about the many failed attempts they'd had at bicycle riding, they set up the aesthetically harmless hill on the way back to the park._

It seemed like such a long time ago. Was it really ten years since they'd met each other? Sighing did April no good, yet that's exactly what she did every hour of every day, nothing better to do but fret over the problems their marriage had tried to overcome and, in spite of the good moments in between, sigh about them.

But now they were trying to repair the damage that was done, and April knew with the knowledge she was taught that talking was always the first step—talking, she mentally reminded herself, not fighting.

"The kids should be home soon," she piped up as she scraped the eggs onto a patiently waiting plate. "Do you have work today?"

It was the first time in a very long while that they weren't arguing about a plight, but having a normal conversation. Frank would have ignored April and begun pondering if there was a such thing as normal and perfect, but he knew with the knowledge _he _was taught that that was a very stupid idea indeed—especially with a woman involved. "I called this morning telling them you were sick."

As much as April didn't like being compared to a sad excuse for a woman—or weak and attention-seeking—she convinced herself that it had been so he could spend more time with her. "We could go to the park and ride bikes," she suggested, shoving aside the overwhelming sense of longing that came with that memory.

Curiosity aroused, Frank stopped chewing and put his fork down, staring up into her hopeful blue eyes. "Is there a reason we should go biking and not watch the children play?"

April shrugged in an attempt to hide her emotional lock to the reason. "I thought we wanted to be different," she argued her point. "All the other women watch their children from the benches. I rarely see a family riding together." Then, pretending like another idea popped into her head, she used her acting skills to her advantage. "I know! Why don't we go and ride down that hill? Michael would love it."

There. That was what she used to get her way: "Michael would love it." Would she ever stop using her kids to get what she wanted? Didn't she love them? Ever since Frank confronted her that she almost flushed their whole family down the toilet—how sick of a joke was that?—she began overthinking and questioning everything about her life.

Of course, Frank had an epiphany about the memory she was indirectly referring to, but he decided not to point it out. "All right," he confirmed, nodding his head. "I'll get the bikes out."

Meanwhile, April watched from the window as Frank opened the garage and started rolling their bikes out, one by one. She was the first to see the children approach the house from the neighbor's lawn, running eagerly when they saw their in the driveway. "Daddy!" Jennifer screamed as he bent down and swooped her into a tight hug. Inwardly, April wondered if it was because he was thinking about their past conversations and yesterday's horrific event.

Eventually Michael caught up behind her, panting. "Jenny!" he whined. "You know I can't run that fast!" He wasn't fuming for long, though, because Frank had put Jennifer down and picked him up too. In the end, both children were glowing and laughing with joy.

"How was it at Shep and Milly's?" he asked the kids, as much as he now loathed saying Shep's name.

But Jennifer ignored her father's question, and her brow furrowed with worry. April didn't notice that she had been gripping the kitchen counter as she looked out upon Revolutionary Road. "Where's Mommy?" she asked in the sweetest, most innocent voice April had ever heard. Her children were so guiltless and guiltless, she didn't know how Frank could have made up something so childish and silly when they had been pointing fingers.

Frank sighed and got down on his knees to meet both Jennifer and Michael's height, both who looked upset and pouty. "Your mother hasn't been feeling too well," he went with, ruffling Michael's hair. "But she's fine now. I think she's in the kitchen."

Imobile, April watched with growing discomfort as her children came running into the house. "Mommy!" they cried, almost knocking her over with their hugs. She made herself laugh the slightest bit to convince them she was all right before putting a hand on one of their shoulders to block out the heavy blow. "Whoa!" she said. "Look at you two!" Frank walked in from behind them, smiling with encouragement. Inside April sighed; it was going to be much longer than she thought before she could open herself up again. "We're going to be riding bikes today! Are you ready to go to the park?"

"We love you, Mommy," Jennifer replied instead, squeezing her waist tighter.

"Yeah, we love you, Mommy," Michael chimed in, but he held on to her legs.

The words broke April's healing heart. Later, when she would look back on it, she was surprised she hadn't cried, but the tears couldn't come.


	4. Author's Note

**Important Author's Note!**

**I hate posting author's notes instead of chapters, but for this story I have complete writer's block. PM me your ideas and I promise to start on it ASAP! For now, I'll jot down whatever comes to my head for this.**

**You're amazing, readers!**

**~Lady Elena Dawson**


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